Medals and Mothers
by saltandstone
Summary: Elizabeth loses something valuable. A little angst, a little fluff.


I don't know whether or not that actually is a St. Christopher medal that Elizabeth has on that necklace she wears, but I have a tiny, blue enamel one that my grandmother gave me that kind of looks like it. That was the inspiration.

* * *

HENRY McCORD reached out for his wife in a state of half-sleep. His hand slid over the bed, but instead of running into her warm body it continued across the cool sheet. He opened his eyes fully and squinted at the clock on his nightstand. 3:33am. He sighed. He listened for a minute, seeing if he could hear her, but the house was silent.

He padded downstairs with a yawn. He found her frantically pulling pillows and cushions off the couch in the family room.

"Babe?" He said, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she said softly.

"You didn't. What are you doing?"

She brushed her fingers across her clavicle. "I can't find my necklace. I woke up and it wasn't there—I can't find it—"

"Baby, it's 3:30. We'll find it in the morning. C'mon. Come back to bed."

"But it's my—my necklace, you know the one with the St. Christopher medal that my mom gave me?"

"I know. You never take it off."

"I didn't take it off. The clasp or the chain must have broken."

"When did you last have it?"

"I—I don't know. It could be anywhere," she said, tears forming. "I had so many meetings this week. I've been to the White House three times, the Justice Department, to that thing at the German Embassy. It could be in my office or in any one of the cars—" She rambled.

"Hey," he said squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry. We'll find it."

He tried to pull her to her feet. "C'mon. Let's go to bed. We'll find it tomorrow. It'll be much easier with fresh eyes and coffee in our veins."

She shook her head stubbornly, pulling her hand from him and crouching down to search underneath the sofa.

"You go ahead. I'll be up in awhile." She said, her voice muffled by the rug.

"Okay," he sighed, knowing very well when she was in one of these moods it was best to just let her be.

* * *

After another hour of searching, Elizabeth sunk down into a chair rubbing absentmindedly at the bare spot on her chest where the necklace usually rested. She sighed thinking back on the day when her mother gave her the necklace.

 _Emily Adams peeked her head into her daughter's bedroom._

 _"Are you all packed, Lizzie?"_

 _"Yes, Mama," Elizabeth replied, looking up from the book she was reading._

 _"Are you excited about camp?"_

 _Elizabeth nodded._

 _"Are you nervous?"_

 _"Maybe a little."_

 _"I have something for you," Emily sat down on the edge of the bed and handed her daughter a small box._

 _Elizabeth smiled up at her mother and pried the lid off._

 _Inside lay a small blue enamel disc on a silver chain. Emily pulled the chain from the cotton._

 _"This is a St. Christopher medal. The story is that St. Christopher carried a child, who was unknown to him, across a river before the child revealed himself as Christ. So he is known as the_ _patron saint_ _of travelers. My Grandma Beth, who you were named after, she gave me this medal when I was about your age. She used to tell me, 'Emmy, this life is a journey. We're all travelers heading somewhere. Take St. Christopher with you wherever you go.' And now I'm giving it to you."_

 _"Thank you, Mama," Elizabeth said hugging her mother as she fastened the chain around her daughter's neck. "I'll never take it off."_

 _Emily kissed her daughter's forehead._

 _"Promise you'll write me every day and tell me what you're doing?"_

 _"I promise, Mama."_

 _"You're going to have so much fun." She said, placing a warm hand on her daughter's cheek._

 _Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her mother, "I love you, Mama."_

 _"I love you, too, Lizzie. To the moon."_

* * *

It had been two days and the necklace was still MIA. Henry scrunched up his pillow and tried to get comfortable. It was late and they were both still awake. He glanced at the clock and then over at her. She had one hand behind her head and the other pressed flat at the base of her neck. She was staring at the ceiling. He reached up and pulled her hand into his, threading their fingers together across his chest.

"What's wrong?" He asked, turning to look at her. "Why is this bothering you so much? I know your mom gave you the medal, but it's more than that. What's going on?"

Elizabeth didn't answer for several moments. Silence stretched out into the dark room.

"Babe?" he prodded, placing a comforting hand on her knee.

"My parents sent me to summer camp when I was ten. I knew my mom was sick, I just didn't know how sick. She, uh, she died while I was away."

"God," he sighed softly. "I didn't know—you never told me that."

"I couldn't. I know they thought they were doing it for my own good, and maybe for hers, but it felt like, no, it still feels like the most awful betrayal. I never got to say goodbye. Not really. She gave me the necklace, kissed me goodbye and ten minutes later my friend Marcie picked me up for Camp Lochearn. My Aunt Maggie showed up one random Tuesday to pick me up. Camp wasn't over for another week. No one would tell me why I had to leave early. When I got home I was told that my mother was gone and my whole world changed."

"Baby, we've been together more than 25 years and you've never mentioned this."

"It's my secret shame, Henry. I never should have left. I should have known how sick she was."

"Elizabeth, you were ten years old!"

"I—I should have known," she cried. "She was my mother. I just, I'd never known anyone who died. I didn't know you could get sick and die. I thought only old people died. I should have—" Her sobs shook the bed. Like little earthquakes. He tugged her to him and held her as she cried.

* * *

"Hi, Dr. McCord," Blake greeted him.

"Hi, Blake. How are you?"

"Fine. Is the secretary expecting you?"

"No. I just thought I'd take a chance and see if I could catch her between meetings."

"You're in luck. Her next meeting isn't for 20 minutes."

"Great. I just need a couple minutes."

"Okay."

Henry knocked on the door as he walked into her office.

She glanced up from the report she was reading. "Hi," she said brightening. "What are you doing here?"

She got up from her desk and walked over to give him a kiss.

"I was in the neighborhood," he said.

"I don't have time for lunch. I'm sorry."

"I don't either. I have something for you."

"What?" She asked curiously.

Henry reached into his jacket pocket and raised his hand up, a silver chain dropping down from his fingers.

She gasped. "Where did you find it?"

"On the floor of the bathroom. It somehow made its way under the hamper. The clasp was broken. I got you a new chain."

She threw her arms around him, kissing him repeatedly. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

"Turn around," he said, undoing the clasp.

She moved her hair aside and he fastened it around her neck. She turned and smiled at him running her fingers over the cool metal.

"Thank you, Henry."

"You're welcome," he said squeezing her hand. "I know how much it means to you."

"My mom—" Her voice cracked.

"I know," he nodded, wrapping his arms around her. "I know."

"She would have loved you," Elizabeth mumbled into his jacket. "She always wanted me to marry a nice Catholic boy."

He blushed.

"Of course _you_ would be able find the medal bearing a Catholic saint. A reward for your faith. Seek and ye shall find and all that."

He laughed. "It wasn't easy. I looked all over the house," he admitted. "I was just about to call on St. Jude."

"Why? Oh. Right. The patron saint of lost causes," she remembered.

She closed her eyes, enjoying being in his arms.

"I could use some saints on my side today. I've got meetings back to back to back and Russell Jackson isn't too happy with me either," she sighed.

"There are patron saints for most of life's situations. These patron saints intercede to God for us."

"I wonder if there's a patron saint for world peace," she mused.

"Superman?" he joked.

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

"St. Zachary is the patron saint of peace," he said.

"Zachary, huh? I wonder if he gives help to those of us who are, ahem, less than pious."

"You don't need St. Zachary, babe. You've got this."

"Henry?"

He turned. "Hmm?"

"I don't need saints to help me out. I've got you."

He winked at her. "Catch you later."

 _fin._


End file.
